Saturday, May 30, 2009

Quentin the Minutes

Quentin Tarantino is starting to look weird. Maybe like he's a had a bit of the old nip-and-tuck done, facially speaking. Perhaps he's had himself plasticized, like those Body World folks. Maybe he's just aging really strangely. Q.T. has always struck me as one of those people who started off dorky and, as the sand goes through his hourglass, will morph into someone actively unattractive.

But no matter. I'm not here to rag on Tarantino for being ugly. I'm sure his face, voice (grating!) and personality (spastic!) send some women in paroxysms of romantic passion. I'm hoping one of those people isn't Uma Thurman, because she's awesome: sexy and tough, with the added bonus of having ditched that weasel Ethan Hawke. (I know the man's supposed to be pretty, but dammit, he looks like a simp.) Tarantino gets to work with hot babes all the time: Uma, Diane Kruger, Darryl Hannah, Pam Grier, and the entire cast of Death Proof. He just doesn't really get to, like...marry them.

While he's now cavorting around Cannes, pimping his new "masterpiece" Inglourious Basterds, I have to admit, despite being kind of tweaked out by his personality, I really, really dig his movies. Quentin seems to have a knack for isolating and fetishizing aesthetic elements that don't usually get props. The eyepatch, for instance. The theme restaurant. His method of combining hacky imagery from Bygone Eras (the 1970s, mostly, especially low-buget heist movies and anything-goes Hong Kong brawlers) with modern, intelligent dialogue, usually means he's filming with an eye to something grander. After all, this guy won the Palme D'or on his sophomore flick. That's unusual.

The charge that's most often brought forward re: Tarantino is that he's a total theiving bastard, which, to be fair, isn't totally false. He's a consummate collage artist, and his movies, instead of 100% original, are mostly re-imaginings of template-heavy film genres. Which isn't to say they're not good. They're very good. In fact, the very fact that Tarantino chooses to focus on the grimy, dirty, low-brow genres instead of some twee Merchant-Ivory pap is kind of revolutionary.

It took me about five years to realize that I actually really like Q. Repeated death marches through both "volumes" of Kill Bill at the hands of an ex-boyfriend left me with the impression that I didn't care from Mr. T's ouevre, but that's a fallacy. Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs, while gory and strange, are gems, and even the Kill Bills have a glossy sheen that's hard to ignore. I'm torn about the upcoming film: like his life partner, Brad Pitt was more interesting when he was Fight Club-crazy instead of a glorified genetic bank. And I'm not so interested in war movies. But whatever - I'll probably see it. Just like other things I once hated and have since grown to love (sweatpants, for one), Quentin Taratino has a certain grows-on-you charm. Like mold!


  1. Q has better legs than I do, dang plastic bastard. I think the only work he's had done is a cranium implant, seriously, that head is even bigger than before.
    Also, you and that trackpants boy should go jogging together.

  2. I feel like he might be wearing nylons in that picture! Not Trackpants Man. Quentin. TPM and I are playing golf on Thursday.